


touch-starved

by Radio Rascal (Vagrants)



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, unconventional use of alt modes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 08:41:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrants/pseuds/Radio%20Rascal
Summary: For Galvatron, even simple problems require unexpected and unconventional solutions. Luckily, Cyclonus is pretty easygoing about it.





	touch-starved

**Author's Note:**

> just something short and nice i wrote to unwind after finishing the Big Bang! i'm starting work on my original continuity, which is called Fusion, and needed to de-stress before beginning another long piece.
> 
> i have this headcanon that Galvatron likes pressure/being squeezed but doesn't like being Touched. i just imagine him sleeping under a lot of weighted blankets, but trying to hug him is a surefire way to piss him off.

Galvatron and his team were flying over Trypticon. A few Decepticons milling around the streets looked up at his approach and he averted his gaze, angry and embarrassed and angrier for being embarrassed. His armor was in a state of disrepair, scratched and scorched and dented in various places. He had nothing to show for it. The Autobots had won today’s battle, which happened often enough, but it had been an especially rough day.

When he landed, everyone gave him distance. The Sweeps weren’t paying attention to him anyway, too occupied with whining about their own pain and following Scourge to the repair bay. Cyclonus was always paying attention, but he was somewhere out of Galvatron’s sight at the moment. Everyone else eyed him carefully and made sure to stay out of optimal shooting range. Some skirted the edge of that invisible circle, curious about his damage, but none would draw too close or dare suggest that he needed to see Hook. He was effectively alone.

He didn’t want to be. Mechs were wary of him, and he knew he was snarling and carrying tension in his frame, but he wasn’t in one of his characteristic moods. He was lucid and fully  _ here _ and that made it worse; most of the time, battle left him detached from reality, but he was present in this moment and he felt bad about the defeat. Everything was so much more difficult to deal with when he  _ had emotions _ and he hated being alone like this.

He turned around, away from Trypticon’s center, and found Cyclonus standing on the opposite curb. His armor wasn’t as scuffed; both of them could postpone their trip to Hook for a while.

Flexing his digits and glaring hard, Galvatron worked up the nerve to speak. A mech like him did not make requests, he gave orders. “Cyclonus, transform,” he said.

Cyclonus tilted his head. “Why, my lord?”

“Just do it. And...and make yourself big.”

“Oh. I see.” He nodded curtly.

Mass shifting was always a bit weird to watch. It was easy to forget Cyclonus had the ability since they had Astrotrain, but it was handy, especially at times like these. Soon he was a jet large enough to seat his smaller comrades, and he sat in the empty street, inert and patient.

Galvatron climbed inside and sat in the pilot’s seat. He took both parts of the harness, snapped it over the center of his chest, then tightened it as much as he could. It squeezed his armor but not enough for his tastes, so he tugged on the straps. Cyclonus was able to tighten the harness significantly further, crushing him against the seat’s back. Others would have found the pressure uncomfortable, even painful, but it calmed Galvatron.

This was the closest thing to a hug he could tolerate. He relaxed into the unconventional embrace, placing his hands on the straps to show he was returning the gesture. Cyclonus would sit there as long as it took for Galvatron to feel better, even if it took hours. It was already starting to work, but he wasn’t hasty, because it was very rare that he wanted any form of contact at all.

They didn’t speak, because words weren’t necessary today. He was soon okay, but he continued to sit there, observing this uncommon moment of comfort and security. Regardless of what the Autobots did to him or his troops, or what was happening inside his processor, Cyclonus would always be there, ready to help him manage it in whatever way worked for him.

He wanted to say thank you, but instead what came from his voice box was, “Good work today, Cyclonus.”

Cyclonus gave an understanding rumble of assent. “Anytime, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
